His Roommate's Girl
by kallieflower
Summary: When Soul Evans agrees to move in with a complete stranger before his freshman year of college, he thinks the worst thing that can happen is getting a roommate who hates his guts. He definitely doesn't expect to become friends with the guy—or to fall in love with his girl.


**Summary:** When Soul Evans agrees to move in with a complete stranger before his freshman year of college, he thinks the worst thing that can happen is getting a roommate who hates his guts. He definitely doesn't expect to become friends with the guy—or to fall in love with his girl. SoMa. AU.

**A/N:** I originally wrote this for the SoMaZine2018 but decided to submit something fluffier and more SoMa-centric for that instead, so here's the backup for all your reading pleasure! Big thanks to my fandom wife/godsend of a beta, infantblue, and also all the good children I've adopted through this incredible process. Chloe, Nova, Nori, Nikki, Rosi, Inno, Kat… I owe you my life.

* * *

Soul meets her boyfriend first.

The whole situation is a clusterfuck of epic proportions and he should've known it was trouble from the start. Maybe if he'd bailed the minute he started to have doubts, he could've avoided all of this pain and heartache. But hindsight is twenty-twenty and love is a total bitch.

Realistically, it probably wouldn't have helped him anyway. He was lost the moment he saw her.

Abandoning his family legacy and choosing to move three thousand miles away from home to attend a college in the middle of a desert has its consequences. One downside is the fact that, if he wants to afford an apartment that isn't a glorified cardboard box, he has to get a roommate.

This is a problem for two reasons. First of all, Soul isn't good with people. At all. He's one sugar cube short of bitter, a little too sarcastic to be considered charming, and on top of that, he looks like a freaking demon. White hair, red eyes, and teeth that can't even be romanticized by vampire purists? _Thanks, Mom and Dad_. Clearly, he hit the genetic lottery.

Secondly, to have a roommate means you have to know someone who is willing to be your roommate. And seeing as he is new to the city and doesn't know a single person, he is at a loss.

That's where Death University's housing website comes in. His first mistake.

Thanatos Angelopoulos the Third—who insists on being called Kid, and who can blame him—is one of the strangest yet most oddly fascinating human beings Soul has ever met. It isn't just the startling color of his eyes or the three white stripes on the side of his head. It's the way he holds himself, tall and stoic and untouchable, like even the persistent dust in the air can't so much as land on his perfectly ironed sleeve.

He isn't the kind of guy Soul ever expected to be sharing an apartment with, but hey, beggars can't be choosers. Plus, Kid is the only one who hadn't been put off by Soul's unfortunate admittance that he looks like a distant relative of the yeti.

But the problem isn't with Kid.

No, the problem is that apparently there's supposed to be a third tenant in their home: Kid's longtime girlfriend and childhood sweetheart.

"I didn't know someone else was going to be living here," Soul says awkwardly when Kid brings it up as they're carrying his stuff in. "I thought this was a two-bedroom apartment."

"It is," Kid replies. "My girlfriend will be staying in my room with me, but don't worry. She's very respectful of personal space and won't bother you, so you don't have to feel uncomfortable around her at all."

Soul hides a grimace as he sets a cardboard box down. "That's not really what I'm worried about."

"I'm home," a light, female, and decidedly sweet voice calls from the front of their apartment. For a moment, something soft crosses Kid's normally expressionless face before he sets down the suitcase he'd carried in and vanishes from Soul's new bedroom like a spirit in the light.

"How was work?" Soul hears Kid murmur from down the hall.

A sigh. "Tedious. Exhausting. Chaotic. Wonderful."

There's a low rumbling sound. _Did Kid just chuckle?_ "Don't lie. You love it."

"I do. Doesn't mean those little brats aren't a pain in my behind. Oh!" she gasps when she notices that Soul has emerged from his room like a slouching shadow. She's standing in front of Kid, her arms wrapped around his neck as he holds her gently by the waist. Soul feels awkward just looking at them, and she must notice, because she quickly untangles herself from Kid's arms and approaches Soul with an extended hand and a bright smile on her face. "Hi! You must be Soul. My name is Maka. It's so nice to meet you!"

Kid's girlfriend is _bubbly_. And cheerful. And so absolutely the opposite of Kid that Soul stares at her for a full five seconds before he remembers his deeply ingrained manners and shakes her hand. "Uhhhhhhh, hey."

She raises an eyebrow. "What's with that expression?"

"Just surprised neither of you have mentioned my hair." Usually it's the first thing people comment about or they somehow think that staring at him like he's about to grow horns is less rude than outright asking about it.

Maka shrugs. "Well, I mean, it's a little weird, but my godbrother likes to dye his hair an electric blue, so white isn't so strange to me. Plus, I think platinum is in now? I don't really know. To each his own, I guess. The eyes are cool though."

"Glad you think so because they're real. Hair, too."

"No shit?" Her eyes widen at his nod. They quickly skim up and down his frame before a wide grin splits her lips. "Lucky you then. Totally fits your aesthetic. Couldn't picture you any other way."

A heavy flush claims his cheeks. How the hell did someone as deadpan as Kid manage to land a girl like this? She's a pretty little thing, all big eyes the color of sea glass and long legs that seem to go on for miles. Her blond hair is up in a messy bun, her skin is flushed with a healthy glow, and she's wearing a denim overall dress that's covered in splashes that look suspiciously like paint.

Seeing his expression, Maka smiles sheepishly and smooths down the front of her outfit as if she can wipe away the vivid colors with her palm. "I work at a daycare center," she explains with a wince. "It's good practice because I'm going to school to be an elementary school teacher—though some days, I wonder the heck why."

"Glutton for punishment?"

"Something like that." She grins, and she's so damn bright, it's a struggle not to look away. "Anyway, I'm sorry I haven't been here earlier to help you get settled. I'm not in charge of my schedule like Kid is. It's hard to take days off around this time since classes start soon and I'll only be able to work there on weekends during the semester. But I came as fast as I could."

Alarmed, Soul's head snaps towards Kid, who is currently frowning at Maka's outfit like it personally offends him. "You took the day off to help me move in?"

Kid raises his eyebrows. "Is that a surprise?"

"Well, _yeah_! I mean, you didn't have to—"

"Oh, don't sweat it," Maka says, waving him off. "Kid could use the break. Trust me, you're just lucky you're meeting him at all before you get settled. Once school starts, he'll be gone so much that you won't ever see him around."

The corners of her boyfriend's mouth turn down. "Work is—"

"Very demanding right now, I know," she sighs quietly. "Doesn't mean it doesn't suck that you're never around."

There's a shared look between them, a despondent apology in Kid's golden eyes that seems to hurt her, but she gives him a weak smile that doesn't alleviate it at all.

Maka glances around the living room then back at the front door where Soul is sure she must've seen his car parked out front on her way in, filled with his belongings. "Do you want to start unpacking while Kid and I carry the rest of your stuff in? That way, you can make a dent in your belongings by the time I get dinner ready."

Soul is vaguely alarmed at the prospect of this bite-sized doll of a human lugging his crap up three flights of stairs. "Shit—you don't have to—"

"Oh, please," she says, rolling her eyes. "I have a forty-pound child clinging to each limb on a daily basis. You think I can't carry in a couple of boxes filled with outdated rock tees?"

Alarm quickly advances into horror and his hand instinctively slaps against the band logo on his shirt. "This isn't even close to rock—it's jazz! How the hell do you get the two mixed up?! Were you born _yesterday_?"

"When it comes to music, she might as well be," Kid says dryly. "You'll realize that quickly once you hear the deafening dubstep bleeding through her headphones while she's washing the dishes."

Soul clutches the fabric against his chest like he's having a heart attack. "Noooooo! Dubstep? Really?"

Maka sticks her tongue out at both of them. "You two assholes keep picking on me and I swear to high heaven I'm going to spit in your food. Now hurry up. I'm tired and hungry and I want to get this done within the hour. We haven't got all day."

It takes three trips for Maka and Kid to haul the rest of his shit up the stairs, with Maka giving Soul a dirty look every time he tries to offer to help them. After that, Kid retreats to take a shower—he doesn't like being sweaty, his girlfriend explains—while Soul fills out his closet and Maka clamors around in the kitchen.

Kid ends up getting called into work later that night. Maka does not seem surprised.

"Sorry about this," she says to Soul after they've been sitting in front of the TV for a while, munching on homemade stir fry. She was the one who suggested they watch a movie together instead of simply eating at the dining room table, and Soul wasn't about to deny her, not after everything she'd done to help him. Plus, it sure beat being a loner in his room.

When he pauses in his food-shoveling to glance over at her, he notices how she doesn't look away from the screen but her shoulders are slightly slumped. He swallows thickly. "Are you kidding? I thought I was going to have to live on instant noodle bowls and boxed mac and cheese to survive—I can't cook for shit. This is great. Thank you."

Maka only shakes her head. "Not that. I mean... I know you expected to only have one roommate, and for him to be a guy. Instead, more often than not, you're probably going to be stuck with just me."

There's a long silence. "Kid's gone often?"

"Often is an understatement." She lets out a small laugh, but there's a sadness in her shoulders that makes Soul's heart tighten in his chest. "His dad... isn't well. That means a lot of the responsibility for their family business falls on Kid's shoulders, and though he's always meant to take over for his father, it's so soon, you know? None of us were ready for him to have to take such a huge role this fast. It's been a rough transition for him and I know he's stressed out, even if he refuses to show it."

"And you?"

She pauses. "What about me?"

"You're worried, too." She can act as bright as she wants, but he can see it as clearly as if he were staring straight through her soul.

Her fingers tighten around her fork. For a moment, she seems to freeze. Then, with a glance in his direction, she quirks a smile and says, "I knew it. You're a secret softie, aren't you? Called it the minute we met."

Soul chokes on his food. "_What_? No! I'm not—I'm not soft at all! I'm a total hardass! A giant slacker! A huge asshole!"

"Mmmhmmm," she hums teasingly, and he feels his face shoot up ten shades of red.

"Maka!"

"Sweet little Soul," she croons. "Trying so hard to be cool."

"I _am_ cool!"

"You're so the opposite of cool right now, I'm pretty sure I could melt an ice cube against your skin."

The unfortunate thing is that she's probably right. He's a fiery fucking tomato and her cheeky grin certainly isn't helping. "I take back what I said," he grumbles unhappily. "I want you out. You're the worst."

She beams. "Well, too bad—you're stuck with me anyway!"

And stuck with her he is.

* * *

True to her word, Kid is rarely around the apartment, and it only gets worse by the time the school year begins. Whenever he _is_ around, it's pretty great. He's a cool guy, a respectable housemate, and surprisingly funny in a deadpan way that Soul likes to rally off of.

But whenever Kid _isn't_ around... Well, that's pretty great, too.

"Ugh, you and your fucking Marvel movies," Maka complains when she collapses onto the couch next to him for their nightly dinners together and sees what he's put on the screen. "That's like the fifth time this month."

"Watch your mouth, teach," Soul shoots back, the same way he always does whenever she swears like the fucking sailor she secretly is. "And it's not my fault you have zero taste and haven't seen any of them before. If you actually—oh, I don't know—got off your ass and watched something that wasn't based off some ancient novel no one gives a shit about anymore, you'd know just how brilliant the MCU actually is."

"Most of those books were written in the nineteen hundreds!"

"Exactly. _Ancient_." He bites back a snicker when she grabs a throw pillow to whack him across the head, angling his plate out of the way and protesting, "Hey, hey, _hey_—watch the grub! I worked hard on this shit."

She _humphs_ stubbornly. "It tastes like dirt."

"Yeah, that explains why you're inhaling it like a drowned rat coming up for air."

"Your face is offending me. Look somewhere else."

"This is the thanks I get for making dinner," he grumbles, but he can't help the way his lips curve upwards and Maka can't either.

Apparently Maka offering to cook on the first day was a fluke. She later admitted she just wanted Soul to think she and Kid were good people in the beginning so she did it to be nice. Now that they've been living together for three months, however, all bets are off.

She only lasted three _days_ into that first week before she threw her foot down and demanded that if she and Soul were going to eat together often, he was going to have to pull his own weight and start taking turns in the kitchen. Then, before he could agree, she proceeded to passive aggressively buy him "An Idiot's Guide to Using the Stove Without Starting a Fire" type cookbooks and left them randomly stacked on top of all his shit.

In response, he left the offensive books in their cellophane plastic wrap and Googled the crap out of recipes online to wow her in a "take that, you little demon" kind of way.

It took him a few tries to get the hang of it, but eventually she stopped mock-gagging whenever she ate his food. It made Soul happier than he'd like to admit.

Soul isn't stupid—or at least, he's definitely not clueless to his own emotions. He knows the way he feels about her is less innocent than a guy being comfortable around his roommate. And the more time they spend together, the more obvious he fears he's getting.

To be honest, it came as a bit of a surprise to him. At eighteen, he's _never_ had an interest in girls at all in the past—never had an interest in anyone really, thanks to extreme introversion and a life of fake socialites trying to suck up to him just because of his last name—but then he met Maka. Then he started _hanging out_ with Maka, most nights ending with the two of them arguing over some random movie or TV show over miscellaneous homecooked dishes or excessive take-out, and before he knew it, he was lost in the black hole that was Schoolgirl Fantasy Hell.

Damn her and her stupid fucking plaid skirts and formfitting blouses. It's like she's _trying_ to incite selective boners with fetishes that completely embarrass his typically undersexed mind. He can't be blamed for it. He's only human, after all.

Unfortunately, there is the very real and very prominent problem that she is currently dating his other roommate—a roommate Soul likes a lot and is starting to consider a close friend. Maybe even his _best_ friend, aside from Maka, because three months into the school semester and Soul is still struggling to make any acquaintances who don't share his ZIP code.

Anxiety is a bitch like that. Plus, why agree to hang out with any of his other classmates when the only person he wants to be around is waiting for him at home?

And no, he's not talking about Kid.

Kid is a great guy. Witty, generous, smart. And though he may be a little absent, he is also a great boyfriend, and he obviously adores Maka to the ends of the earth. How could he not?

So Soul throws a cap on his stupid emotions and settles for a long, painful ride in the friend zone, knowing that even if he can never kiss Maka the way he often dreams about, he can still be her friend. One of her _best_ friends. He's okay with that.

_Mostly_.

"Mmmmaaaakaaaa," Soul whines an hour later, tugging on a lock of her hair when she takes another long glance at her textbook instead of watching the Hulk chase after Loki. "You're not even paying attention."

"Yes, I am," she says without missing a beat.

"Then what just happened?"

There's a pause. Green eyes flicker to the screen. "The green thing is beating up the bad guy."

"So Thor's the bad guy?"

Another pause. "Yes?"

"Trick question—that's Loki, not Thor, which you would _know_ if you'd been watching the goddamn television instead of _staring at your freaking book!_"

Turning her head to look at him, she raises an eyebrow and says, quite cheekily, "You're a lowkey fanboy nerdling, aren't you? Like an honest-to-goodness, fact-checking fanatic."

The tips of his ears turn bright red. "I am not!"

"I bet if I went back in time to see your childhood bedroom, you'd have Avengers bedsheets and a life-sized poster of Captain America plastered to your wall. Maybe you even collected comics? Or wait—no, I know what your vice would be. You had Spider-Man pajamas, didn't you? Like the full body onesie type things that you could put on and play pretend against imaginary villains?"

"You—you—_shut up!_" he yelps.

Maka bursts out laughing at the inhuman color of his face. "Aww, don't be embarrassed," she croons. "I think it's cute. My kids at the daycare center are big into that kind of thing too, and whenever they use their pretend hero voices during playtime, I _always_ think of you. Cross my heart."

"You're the devil," Soul grumble-moans into a throw pillow, using it as a shield to block out her adorable teasing, because how the fuck is it fair for her to be this cute when he's such an embarrassing idiot? "You're an actual demon in disguise. I fucking hate you."

"You love me," she chirps happily, and Soul is glad he's already hiding his face so she can't read his expression and realize just how on the nose she is.

* * *

It gets worse when she throws him a surprise party in November.

He never mentioned his birthday to her once. Years of being forced through cocktail parties with entitled strangers have made him develop a distaste for celebrating in large crowds, especially for something revolving around him. He honestly thought he'd be able to blow by it without incident at all, so when he comes home the day before his birthday to a loud chorus of "HAPPY ALMOST BIRTHDAY!" and dozens of people crowding his apartment, he is genuinely shocked.

There are so many faces he passably recognizes and a surprising amount that he actually knows. Liz and Jackie from Musical Theory, Maka's self-proclaimed rival Ox with his snooty girlfriend Kim, Kilik and Harvar from the basketball scrimmages he sometimes attends with Maka's godbrother, Blake... Then there's Maka herself, standing in the middle of the front of the crowd, beaming like she's the one whose birthday it is.

And they're all here for him.

Later, Maka pulls Soul aside to say that she knows he doesn't like parties and that she hopes she didn't overstep. She tells him how she already told everyone that they had to be gone by ten, although if he really hates it, they can send everyone else home earlier and spend the rest of the night shoveling back leftover chips and watching whatever shitty superhero movie he wants.

He almost kisses her right then and there.

Instead, he asks about Kid.

"Work flew him out to New York for an important meeting," she says with a fake smile. "But he sends his regards. He said he'll call later tonight to wish you a happy birthday himself."

"I can't believe you did this for me," Soul says, shaking his head. "I can't believe all these people came."

She gives him a funny look. "Of course they came, Soul. They're your friends. Why wouldn't they?"

That's when he realizes maybe he's not as isolated as he thought he was.

* * *

Christmas comes and goes. Like Thanksgiving, both Soul and Maka carefully choose not to visit their families, so they make their own orphan's Christmas filled with microwavable turkey dishes and mashed potatoes he accidentally over-salts because he's too busy staring at her fluffy Santa miniskirt to pay attention.

It's still the best Christmas he's ever had.

The second term flies by just as quickly, and then so does their second year, and by the time Soul realizes what's happened, they're college juniors and out celebrating Maka's twenty-first birthday at a bar like a fucking tornado, because she's the baby of their group and all their crazy-ass friends are stupidly excited to get her drunk.

They aren't the ones who have to hold her hair back as she throws up.

That night, on the cold tiles of their bathroom floor after nearly an hour of emptying her stomach, Maka cries in Soul's arms and admits how she feels so alone. He doesn't know what to say, doesn't know what to do, doesn't know how to maintain that thin, fragile line between them that barely contains all the feelings he has never been able to stop—and so he doesn't say anything at all. Lets her cry. Wishes he could do more, _be_ more, give her more than the comfort of a friend who wants to be more than a friend like the worst friend in the world.

Kid isn't there. His father passed away months earlier, and he's still dealing with the mess.

Soul knows Maka has never let her boyfriend see her cry.

Kid proposes to her on a Sunday evening. It's both a long time coming and completely out of the blue. She is shocked and so is Soul, but the rest of their friends squeal with glee.

She says yes.

Soul avoids her for weeks.

A month later, when Kid asks him to be his best man, Soul wants to cry but instead agrees, because how the fuck else is he supposed to respond to a beautiful tragedy like this? As much as he's grown to love Maka, he's also grown to love Kid—kind, serious, selfless Kid—and what the fuck kind of person screws over a friend just because he can't keep his own emotions in check?

Kid lost his father, lost his childhood, lost the ability to choose his own future—a dilemma Soul understands very well—and the last thing he needs is to lose the one person in his life who stands unfailingly by his side as he maneuvers through mountains of shit. Soul can't take her from him. He couldn't break them if he tried.

"I know I'm not perfect," Kid says to his hands, his shoulders so tense from all the weight they bear. "I know I don't deserve her patience, and I definitely don't deserve her love. But I can't live without her; I can't even fucking try. I may not be good at showing it, but she's the only thing I need. And that's why I have to thank you."

Soul jerks back, stunned. "_What_?"

"You're here for her in a way I'm not. Supporting her and being there for her and staying with her when I can't. You have no idea how much I appreciate that. I used to be worried about leaving her alone so often because she's the kind of girl who will take the shadows I leave without a single complaint—and that's why I posted the ad for a roommate in the first place. I wanted to make sure someone would be here in the apartment with her when I couldn't be. I expected someone temporary, some kind of placeholder until I could fix things, but I never thought—" Kid breaks off. Cracks a smile. "You're a thousand times more than I ever could have dreamed. So thank you, Soul. I couldn't have done any of this without you—_neither_ of us could. You have no idea how lucky we've been."

* * *

They are seniors.

Maka cries more often lately, but now she no longer lets Soul see. They still hang out together, eat dinner together, watch movies together—but their friendship feels so fragile now, so easily broken, and that distance kills him more than anything.

So he does the only thing he can: he puts _more_ distance between them.

It's the most painful thing he's ever done. Not being around her is like missing a part of his soul. And loving her? It's still everything.

Kid spends more time at home. A full year has gone by since his father's death and things are finally starting to slow down. Now that he's gained full control of everything, it's like it's become less work rather than more—or maybe he's just gotten used to it after years of acting in his father's stead. One of the biggest changes is the fact that he's learned to delegate a bit better so he's able to be there for his girl in her time of need.

Soul thinks Kid must know how much Maka's been hurting lately. He should be glad that Kid has become more attentive, more present, more aware of Maka's feelings, but the selfish part of him wishes the golden-eyed man remained as blind as he's always been just so Soul could still feel needed.

He's such a horrible fucking friend.

And then one night, when Soul returns to their apartment after another evening hiding out at Kilik and Harvar's place to avoid the happy newlyweds-to-be, he walks through the front door just as Maka's palm slaps right across Kid's cheek.

Time seems to stall. Kid is silent. Soul doesn't breathe.

And then Maka chokes back a sob and runs past Soul, right through the open door, without looking at him.

Soul is frozen. "I—"

"Let her go," Kid says quietly. "Just let her go."

It's barely a day before Soul breaks down and goes searching for her. He's never realized it before, but he's never spent a night at their apartment without Maka there, even when they were barely speaking. She's always there, steady and bright, like a beacon of light in any darkness that without fail continues to shine.

And as much as he cares for Kid, Soul doesn't know how to temper the golden-eyed man's intensity like Maka does—he's never had to because she's always there—so it's the first night he gets a taste of how truly dark Kid can get and the experience fucking _terrifies_ him.

Kid is not violent. He is not angry. He is not cruel.

He is simply _dark_—dark in a way that cannot be explained in any other manner. And for the first time in years, Soul understands why Kid is so scared to lose Maka and why Maka is so absolutely terrified to let Kid go.

Soul finds her at Liz's house with tear-stained cheeks. The fact that she's still obviously crying even twenty-four hours after her fight with Kid makes Soul want to rip up his own heart and lay the pieces down for her to walk on. But her green eyes are so hollow, her cheeks so desperately pale, and whatever words he'd prepared in his mind refuse to claw their way up his throat.

Liz shoots Soul a warning look when Maka quietly asks for privacy, miming a knife across her throat as she leaves.

The two of them stand in the doorway in silence for a long moment before Maka eventually breaks it. "Is he okay?"

Soul wants to scream. It takes everything he has not to. Kid clearly hurt her, hurt her _deeply_—she'd never let him see her cry otherwise—and the first thing she says to Soul after weeks of dodging around their strained friendship is making sure that Kid's alright. "Maka, what the hell happened?"

Green eyes blink once, and slowly. "Kid didn't tell you?"

Frustration makes him snap, "Well, he was a little too busy losing his fucking mind to speak."

Maka's flinch hits him like a physical blow. He jerks forward just in time to catch her as her knees give out, her breaths being yanked from her lungs in pants as sobs instantly explode from her lips.

"Fuck, Maka, I shouldn't have—"

"I'm sorry," she cries into his shirt, and he holds her tighter, hating himself, hating Kid, hating the world that makes this brilliant, beautiful, sunshine of a girl feel like every wound is her fault. "I'm so sorry. I never should've left him that night, but I just—"

"_Maka_," he stresses, one part reverence, two parts horror. "_Stop it_. It's not your fault."

"But it is," she whimpers. "It's all my fault. Everything. All of it."

Soul feels like breaking. He wants to crawl into the ground and die because he's loved this girl for years and he never once had an idea of what she'd been struggling with, what she'd been dealing with, what she'd been burdened with because Soul's stupid, stupid love-brain dismissed any signs of her unhappiness as a possibility that she might love him, too. That maybe the reason she was so distressed in her relationship was because she was struggling with her feelings like he was. That maybe, just maybe, Kid wasn't as perfect as he seemed to be and Maka didn't love him anymore.

But it's so much worse than that.

"Why didn't you tell me that he struggles with severe OCD?"

Hearing him say the words out loud seem to tear right through her. Her sobs are silent tremors. Her whole body trembles. "How could I?"

"_Easy_—you just open your mouth and ask your good friend for help! Or does that rule only apply when it's the other way around?"

"That's—different," she whispers. "That rule is so you don't retreat into yourself like you always try to and rely on me to pull you out of your shell. But this... this had nothing to do with me. This wasn't my story to tell."

"Bullshit, Maka! That shit doesn't count when the person in question was literally killing himself to keep that secret. I could have... I don't know, I could have _helped_ you—"

"How?"

"Done _something_—"

"You don't understand—"

"_Of course I don't fucking understand!_" he all but screams. "That's because neither of you told me! You both called me your best friend, told me you trusted me with your lives, told me you loved me—and what? You thought it was okay to keep this a secret from me? Thought I wasn't strong enough to know?"

"We didn't want to burden you—"

"_No! _That's the biggest bag of bullshit excuse I've ever heard and you _know_ it!"

"Stop yelling at me!" she cries. "Don't you get it, Soul? I _know_ how messed up everything is. I've known it since we were kids and Kid was just the boy next door with the sick father and too much pressure on his premature shoulders. He's always been a little too serious, a little too obsessive, and you can't blame him for it because you didn't see the way he grew up—but I did. And I chose to be there anyway. And when everything kept getting worse and the only break from his compulsive thoughts was in a way I could barely fathom, I just—I stayed by his side, even when he tried to push me away, and eventually he came to lean on me. But he wouldn't let anyone else in and I couldn't force him to."

"He should've told someone," Soul insists. "He should've gotten help."

Maka only shakes her head. "Everything he did his entire life was scrutinized, measured, weighed. It didn't matter how perfect he tried to be. To the people watching, it was never enough. He was so worried that admitting to weakness would ruin everything and send his father's entire legacy crashing down—after all, there were so many people watching on the sidelines, just waiting for a chance to watch Kid burn—so he kept it under wraps. Tried to fight it on his own. And he fought so hard, Soul, every day, every hour. I could only help him so much."

"He never should've asked you to help him."

"He didn't have to. I offered."

Of course she did. Soul wants to laugh and cry and nothing at all. He knows, without a doubt in his mind, that whatever he tries to tell her now will fall on deaf ears. However unhappy she may be—however hard this whole situation has been on her—she'll deal with it, silently, without complaint, because despite how much Kid is hurting her, she still loves him. In what capacity doesn't matter. She'll stay with him. That's the kind of person she is.

And Soul... He'll follow her anyway. That's the kind of person _he_ is.

* * *

Neither Kid nor Maka tell him what their fight was about, but three days later, they act like nothing happened at all.

Soul tries to pretend her vacant eyes aren't killing him.

"So when are you going to move out?" Liz asks one night when their friends are all hanging out at their favorite pub. Kid is at work and Maka opted to bring him dinner instead of joining everyone else. Soul was dragged out by Kilik and Harvar, who are both wordlessly concerned about the amount of time he's been spending at their place, and when Liz drops this bomb, completely out of the blue, Soul wishes he stayed home.

He sips on his beer, shoulders forcibly relaxed. "Why would I move out?"

"Because while it's weird that you're still third-wheeling an engaged couple, it's nothing compared to how it would be if you were third-wheeling a _married_ couple."

"Especially when you're in love with the girl in that married couple," Kilik adds.

Soul chokes, spewing fermented liquid all over his chin. "I didn't—I'm not—"

"Oh, please." Liz rolls her eyes as Harvar hands Soul a wad of paper towels to clean up his face. "You haven't looked at a single girl since we've known you—excluding the puppy dog eyes you make at Maka when you think no one is looking, of course. You're not exactly subtle, Evans."

"Shut up," Soul hisses. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

Liz levels him with a dark look. "So what then? We all graduate in two months. You're going to follow them across the country and continue being their needy puppy, begging for scraps every time one of your owners leaves you alone with the other?"

He stares at the glass in hand, his fingers tightening. "As long as Maka needs me around, I'm staying. Until she tells me to go."

She grimaces. "I can't tell if you're selfless or pathetic. Their relationship isn't your problem, Soul. You can't force them to break up just because you think they're struggling."

His head snaps up, and when he sees the grim looks on all his friends' faces, realization hits him like a slap on the face. "You all know," he accuses. "You know how much he's hurting her. What the fuck is your problem then? How can you shit on me for wanting to be there for her when you see it too?"

"It's not our place," Kilik says quietly. "They've been together forever. She won't leave him. You know she won't. Will you ask her to?" When Soul remains silent, merely clenches his jaw, the dark-skinned man nods. "That's what I thought."

"She deserves better than this," insists Soul. "And so does Kid. They both do."

"Maybe so, but that's not your decision to make."

* * *

Soul moves out on a Friday night. This time, Kid is the one working and Maka is home. But unlike when Soul moved in, she doesn't offer to help. Doesn't make jokes. Doesn't tease.

She simply stands by the doorway and watches him carry his things out as tears run down her cheeks.

When his room is empty of his belongings, Soul lingers. He knows he shouldn't but he can't make himself leave. They stand on opposite sides of the doorway as if there's some invisible barrier that the threshold brings, and only when Maka's tears turn to silent sobs does Soul find the courage to breach that distance between them.

He holds her so tightly as she cries into his chest, and for that brief moment in time, he lets himself imagine a world where things might've been different.

But they aren't different. And so he has to say, "I know you've been keeping me out to remain faithful to Kid, and I know you just want to protect him as you always have. But I can't sit here and watch the two of you hurt yourselves anymore, Maka. Not when you won't let me do anything about it. It's killing me to try."

She chokes on a sob. "I know. I _know_. God, Soul, I just—I can't—I'm so—"

"Shhh," he whispers against the top of her head. "Don't apologize. Not to me. Just... take care of yourself, okay?"

He hears her broken cries in his head long after he's gone.

* * *

Senior year passes in a blur.

He doesn't go to graduation. He doesn't go to the after party either. He avoids all their friends and dodges their constant invitations, and after a while, they stop calling. Surprisingly, he misses them a lot more than he thought he would. He never realized how close they'd become until he cut them out.

But that's nothing compared to how much he misses _her_.

A couple weeks after school ends, Soul moves to LA for work. He also gets a job offer in New York but turns it down immediately, knowing that's where Maka and Kid are bound to be. As much as he misses her, he doesn't know how to let them both into his life again. Not after it took everything he had to let her go in the first place.

He's not strong enough to lose her twice. And he's definitely not strong enough to watch her marry someone else.

Even if that someone else is someone he cares for, too.

Months pass slowly and all too fast. Though nothing goes wrong, nothing seems to go right either. He is in a constant state of stasis—the kind of comfortable, balanced lifestyle that most people would be kill to have—but despite how fortunate he is in his occupation, he can't shake the gnawing feeling that something vital is missing. There's a giant, Maka-sized gap in his life and he doesn't know how to begin to fill it. If he's honest, he doesn't even try.

Then, a year after he left Death City, he has a fateful encounter.

It's a meet-cute for the books—except it isn't. Even though he's filled out some in his twenties, he is still all gangly legs and slouched shoulders, trying to make it through his day by drawing the least amount of attention to himself as possible, which is quite difficult considering he looks like a demon with extendable limbs.

The fact that he accidentally turns and bumps into someone with his elbow in the cramped space of the café is not surprising. The surprising part is _who_ he bumps into.

"_Maka_?"

The ultimate definition of The Girl That Got Away blinks up at him with the same wide green eyes he still sees in his dreams. She looks like the personal assistant character in a classic romantic comedy, her arms and elbows crammed with an impressive amount of bag handles and stacked papers, blond hair in pulled back into a messy bun. He nearly knocked her off her feet, but she doesn't look angry at all. Instead, her face brightens like she just won the lottery. "Soul!"

"Maka," he splutters again, too stunned to say anything else. Glancing around in a near-panic, he notes the pre-caffeine crowd that is slowly encroaching on their limited personal space, so he takes Maka by the elbow and gently leads her to the side. "How—why—I mean, what are you doing here? I thought you moved to New York."

"Nah, decided I wanted to live somewhere warmer if I was going to be stuck going to school for another year and a half. Probably want to teach around here too, if I can." She smiles at him, this time a little shy. "I had no idea you were in town. You haven't exactly kept in touch with any of our friends, and you've never been one for social media."

His nails find the back of his head. "Yeah, I, uh—I was really busy, after graduation. Things kinda got away from me. Didn't mean to lose touch with everyone."

Maka nods as if she believes that piece of bullcrap lie he just told, but they both know she's aware of the truth.

"So where's Kid?" Soul asks casually. "Did he come with you to LA or are you guys doing the long-distance thing?" _Is everything okay? Are you still helping him keep his secret? Did you end up getting married? _

_Does he make you happy? _

Soul is so preoccupied with his internal torment that he almost misses the halting look that flickers across Maka's face. Her brows pull together. She bites her lip, as if struggling with her words, which is an issue Maka Albarn never has.

Instantly, his gaze drops down to her left hand, currently tipped as she balances three bags on her arm, but he couldn't miss her ring finger if he tried.

Or, more specifically, the massive diamond she'd been wearing since their junior year that is no longer there.

Seeing his stunned expression, Maka lets out a light laugh and shifts her weight onto her other foot, tucking her hand beneath her ribcage. "I'd be surprised you haven't heard already, but I guess that's only to be expected considering you dropped off the face of the earth following graduation." She tightens her fist. "Kid and I, um… We broke up. Right after you moved out, actually."

"_What?_" Soul bursts out. "But—but that was like—two years ago." One year, eight months, and fourteen days actually—but who's counting. "What did—I mean how did—fuck, are you _okay_? You must've been _devastated_, I should've _called_, I didn't _know_—"

He cuts off at the sound of her light laugh, the sound so sweet and musical and familiar that it feels like a thousand-pound weight has simultaneously been dropped and lifted off his chest. A loose strand of blond hair falls into her face. Arms full with bags and books, she attempts to blow it away with a semi-strategic, wholly adorable puff of air, but it only falls back into her eye.

It takes everything he has to keep from reaching out to tuck it behind her ear.

"Soul, I don't blame you for anything," she says softly. "And neither does Kid. You had to go; we understood that. And Kid—Kid and I are still friends, still talk all the time, but we just realized back then that…" She trails off, glancing to the side, and Soul looks at her with concern.

"Maka?"

"It's kind of a long story," she admits. "I—I'd love to tell it to you sometime. Catch up. But I'm kind of late for something, and I need to—"

"Oh!" he says with realization. _Of course_ she's busy. Not only does she look like she's trying to break some sort of record for the amount of bags a person can hold collapsing beneath the weight, but it's the pre-coffee madness hour in a well-known student district. It's safe to say that everyone around here is in a rush to go somewhere. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—"

"No, it's fine, I just—"

"—you must be in a hurry—"

"—my fault, I should've managed my time better—"

"—probably have somewhere you need to—"

"Go out with me later?" she blurts out suddenly, cutting off whatever embarrassing rambling they'd both been stumbling through. At his stunned expression, she turns beat red and instantly backtracks. "N-n-not like a date or anything like that! I just mean—I want—we have so much to talk about and I get off around six, so if you maybe possibly hopefully have a little free time, I'd love to take you to dinner to catch up or hang out or—"

"Pick you up at seven?"

Her eyes brighten at the interruption. That nervous energy buzzing through her veins evaporates when she looks at him, _really_ looks at him, and she must realize that despite the time between them following a terrible departure, he is still the same guy he's always been. Meaning that he'd still drop everything for her in a heartbeat and she wouldn't even have to ask. "Are you sure? It's been two years since we last saw each other. A lot could've changed since then."

"Yeah, because clearly you must be a serial killer now," he says sarcastically.

"You don't know that I'm not."

"I think I'll take that chance."

"You don't even know my address."

"You could text it to me," he says, trying to sound about a thousand times cooler than he actually feels.

"Was that a not-so-smooth way of asking for my number?"

"I—" Fuck, she's so fucking cute when she's teasing him. He almost forgot how much. "Yes," he admits, defeated, because he's never been able to fool Maka for anything. They lived together for nearly four years. She knows all about how uncool he is.

Maka is terrible at hiding her smile as she recites her digits so he can punch it into his phone. During that time, they've been edged even further into the wall of the coffee shop by the growing crowd and Maka's thin-but-mighty sticks she calls arms are starting to noticeably tire beneath her workload's weight.

Soul eyes her incredulously. "Shit, Maka. Can I help you carry something somewhere first or—?"

"Nah, it's fine." She waves him off as best as she can with zero use of her arms. "I'm just around the corner anyway. You'll text me though? About tonight?"

"I will."

"Promise?" she presses.

He almost scoffs and retorts that he said he would, didn't he? But then he sees the hint of insecurity beneath her big green eyes, the hesitance there, the longing, and he realizes that considering he's spent the past twenty months doing everything in his power to ignore her and everyone they've ever known, her uncertainty is completely founded.

And the fact that she's so worried that he'll disappear again? Well, that's something to obsess over another day.

"I promise," he vows softly.

Relief washes over her face. "Good. I'll hold you to it, Evans, so don't you dare bail out on me, okay?"

"I wouldn't dare."

Later that night, he picks her up at her apartment building. The whole day has been a blur of nervous energy and tentative excitement. He spent far more time getting ready than he'd ever admit, but when she opens that door dressed in a pale sundress and her hair half-curled down her shoulders, he realizes that no amount of preparing his emotions could've prevented the way his heart leaps in his chest.

Her cheeks pink when he merely stares at her. "What?" she asks shyly. "Too much? I can change—"

"No!" he blurts out, then flushes at his outburst but refuses to take it back. "No," he says again, softer this time. "You're—you're beautiful, Maka."

Nearly two years apart and her smile is still enough to light up his entire world.

Is it any wonder why he's never wanted anyone else?

Dinner is perfect. And not in a flawless, textbook-example-of-a-good-date perfect—that possibility goes out the window the moment he nearly trips over the carpet into the restaurant—but _Soul-and-Maka_ perfect, where he makes a goddamn fool of himself trying not to turn into tomato paste and she laughs so hard she cries. The talk about everything and nothing, joke over steak and overpriced wine, and when she finally brings up the story they'd set this date up to discuss in the first place, it's over flushed cheeks and chocolate mousse and a smile so sweet that he could stare at her forever.

"I wanted to… not _save_ him, not exactly, but be there for him? In any capacity he needed? And I thought maybe it would be enough, maybe just by remaining by Kid's side as a steady anchor, I could help him overcome the demons he kept putting off—but I should've known better, because it doesn't work that way and it took talking to you about it for me to realize just how much."

"He's in therapy now?" Soul asks, drawing circles on the inside of her wrist.

"And on medication," she confirms. "We still talk when we can—because no matter what happened, we were always friends before anything else—and he seems happy now. Not perfect, not yet, maybe not for a long time, but he's so much more at ease. It makes me wish I'd pushed him to get help sooner like you'd said."

Soul quickly shakes his head. "It was never your responsibility, Maka. You never would've been able to force him to get help if he hadn't been willing. That was a decision he had to make on his own."

Her expression is so soft, so gentle, even as she teases, "Look who got smart after leaving college. Guess that desert weather was to blame for your bad grades after all, huh?"

He scoffs, but not without affection. "You had an advantage being a Death City native, but we're on an even playing field now. How are you going to function when all your competition isn't suffering from mind-melting heat?"

She winks. "Guess you'll have to wait and see, won't you?"

When they finally leave the restaurant, it's nearing midnight, but neither of them is ready to go home. They end up walking down the beach, hand-in-hand while he carries her heels in his other, and maybe it's the light breeze or the city lights or the soothing roll of waves in the background, but it's the first time he's ever felt at home since he moved here.

"So how's single life been so far?" he asks casually, as if the weight of his world doesn't rest on her answer. He knows she hasn't dated much since Kid—she said as much at dinner—but she didn't really affirm anything about her current relationship status. Though he certainly knows what he hopes her answer will be.

Maka lets out a light laugh. "I'm so busy I swear I forget what a boy even is. Seriously, how did I ever manage to find the time to date another human being before? These days I barely have time to breathe for myself, let alone exist around someone else."

"That might have to do with the fact that you're incapable of slowing down," he says wryly.

She makes a face. "I like to work hard. Since when is that a crime?"

"When your body forgets what food tastes like if it doesn't come out of a takeout container."

"What about you?" she asks, staring shyly at her feet as she combs her toes through the sand.

"What about me what?"

"Are you… seeing anyone?" She winces as if immediately regretting the question, but she doesn't take it back. She keeps her gaze trained on the ground, trying to hide the way her body aches to fidget which she won't allow.

He doesn't take his eyes off her for a second as he says, "You know I don't date, Maka." There's a faint breath like she's exhaling a sigh of relief, only to stop when he continues, "But I want to."

Her chest halts, almost imperceptibly. "Oh?"

"Yeah." His voice is casual. His fingers stroke hers. "But only this one girl. I… I've never wanted anyone else. But I don't know if she wants me back."

She is so still he'd almost think she's a statue if she didn't feel so warm beneath his touch. "She'd be stupid not to."

"I take personal offence to that. I can guarantee that no one has ever called her stupid before."

Her breathing is so shallow. He places a hand against her cheek and revels in the way she inhales sharply. "She's… smart?"

"The smartest person I've ever met," he affirms. "Brilliant. Kind. Works way too hard for her own good. Doesn't seem to realize that she only has two arms and therefore tries to take on the weight of the world by herself, but I'm hoping that if she lets me in, I'll be able to shoulder some of the burden so she won't have to."

"Sounds like you like her quite a bit."

"More than a bit, I think. And for a very long time."

Maka exhales a shallow laugh. "She doesn't deserve you. She never has—not then, and definitely not now."

"Don't you think that's up to me to decide?"

Her face pinches like she's trying to smile but all she can manage is a choked little cry. "She _hurt_ you—before. You can't lie to me and say she didn't. She knows what she did. She still hates herself for it every day."

"She shouldn't," he whispers back. "I don't regret a thing."

When their lips finally touch, it's like coming home for the first time. It's a gentle thing, sweet, almost tentative, but he thinks it's perfect.

"Soul?"

"Y-yeah?"

Her smile is bright enough to light the moon. "I really missed you, you know? So fucking much."

He kisses her again and it feels like flying.


End file.
